Friendly Foe
by thecrAYzeebard
Summary: Yes, this is my revised and updated edition of Friendly Foe, almost totally re-written for quality. Now, more realistic, with the characters more likely to act like themselves! The story from three years ago has come back to life, hopefully better than ever! How far Will will go to keep a dangerous secret, and what will it cost? Majour Will!Whump ahead!
1. Chapter 1

**Bloomin' heck it's been a long time. Er. I won't attempt to make any excuses, but will attempt to go ahead and fix/finish this story. I fweews awful for letting it go this long. I won't say why it's been three years. *Cryptic smile* **

* * *

Horace tottered slightly as he tried to stand up, battered and bruised from his earlier beating. Actually, it had only been about a minute ago and his tormentors had long since left, but that was exactly his problem; they were after Will. He knew that, normally, Will would be able to defend himself fairly well, should one of them attack him, but Will was also a lot smaller than any of them were, and there was only one of him, as opposed to three.

Horace slowly made his way to a barrel of wooden practice swords, but nearly fell over as he tried to take one of the weapons out. He held onto the barrel to steady himself and tried again, only to wind up quite suddenly on the ground, but at least the barrel was on the ground as well. He picked up one of the swords that had fallen out and was about to start what he knew would be the slow journey to find Will, but came to a grinding standstill as a voice called from over his shoulder.

"Oi, you can't leave those there!"

Horace flinched and looked at the wooden swords scattered all over the ground, then up at the older student who had commanded him to pick them up.

"Um, look, Sir, I'm in a hurry, so can I just-?"

The older trainee crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow, tilting his head forward a little as he did so. "I know who you are, y'know. And I know how eager you are to train. You're really good, but you're not going anywhere until you pick up those swords."

Horace inwardly groaned as he knelt rather slowly to replace all of the swords in the barrel, stand the barrel up again, and then finally start toward Halt's cabin, but the other trainee stopped him again.

"C'mon, you clearly need to see the healer. You won't be able to do anything all stiff like a cat on bath day, don't worry though, old Levi will have you fixed up in no time."

Horace had to admit that it was nice of the student to actually make an attempt to be nice, but still tried to pull away as the older boy draped an arm around his shoulders so as to drag him to the healer.

"No, I really need to-"

The older boy shook his head. "It won't kill you to not practice for about an hour or so. You can go back to training right after; it'll be fine."

Horace hoped he could say the same for Will.

* * *

Will, for perhaps the thousandth time that day, pulled back the bowstring, took aim, and fired. At least it was his last arrow. Again. He usually didn't get bored during training, but Halt wasn't around to give him any pointers, or company, as he was up at a meeting at the castle. It made training monotonous not to have someone to talk to regardless of the fact that his attempts to chatter during training still usually earned irritated remarks from his mentor.  
He had to admit, though, that he was getting used to the gray ranger. Yes, the man was taciturn, but Will was learning that the man wasn't actually the heartless monster most people thought rangers were. He may not be over fond of too many questions, but Will had realised a while back that the man's dry manner wasn't a sign of dislike.  
Halt had gotten used to having an apprentice around again, too, and had 'lightened up' to a remarkable degree. His praise was sparing, and he expected the boy to work for it, but he wasn't callus. He didn't withhold that praise when it was well-deserved, and he even had a sense of humour if you knew how to look for it.

And today, there would be several holes near or in the center of each target that Will would be able to show Halt later, and that thought was something that pleased him to no end.

He lay down his bow and took a moment to stretch, the muscles in his arms somewhat tense from the repetitive pulling of the bowstring, but stopped as a small twinge went through him. He was still a little sore from the encounter with the boar, but was boyishly disappointed that it hadn't left a mark of any kind, which meant no proving to anyone that he hadn't been on the offensive instead of defensive during the fight.

Which, consequently, meant he had no way of stopping any of the ridiculous stories that had been going around about what had happened.

He was startled out of his thoughts by a voice calling to him from across the clearing.

"Does the ranger, Halt, live here?"

Will supposed that it was a Battleschool apprentice, as the boy didn't really look like he could possibly be anything else. He certainly wasn't someone who visited areas near the forest very often, or he wouldn't have brought that cane along as if he thought wild animals were just waiting to attack him.

Will nodded with a friendly smile, "Yes, Halt lives here, but he's at the castle right now." he replied.

The Battleschool apprentice shrugged, coming a little closer. "It's not him that I want to talk to. Are you his apprentice?"

Again, Will nodded. "That's me."

He was almost startled by a second voice, but then he spotted another apprentice standing just behind the first. "It's about the boar hunt."

Will sighed, smile vanishing. So that's what this was about- they wanted confirmation on another of those wild rumours that everyone seemed so fond of. He didn't really mind disappointing them. "I really didn't have anything to do with it; you should probably talk to-"

A third voice interrupted him. "We _know_ you didn't have anything to do with it."

Will saw the third apprentice coming closer as well. It was starting to make him worry, how the three of them were talking. How close they were standing. His eyes lit on the canes each of them carried, flickering quickly back to their faces.

The first one came a bit closer. "And that's why we're here, because you make us seem foolish."

Will scowled in confusion. Something was wrong, very, terribly wrong. He could feel it, but didn't realise exactly what it was. He looked at the older boy, incredulous, "How do I make you seem-"  
He never finished the sentence.

The second apprentice to have spoken suddenly tried to hit Will across the knees with his cane, but Will jumped and avoided him, only to be hit by the third apprentice, who had come up behind him.

He gave a small yelp, his shoulders stinging from the blow, and staggered forward, taking another blow from the second apprentice.

He dodged a third hit, rolling sideways and knocking the first apprentice down, but then the third apprentice hit him once more.

They surrounded him, and the world disappeared under a torrent of blows from every direction. He didn't give up that easily, and, taking a deep, steadying breath, latched onto one of the canes as it fell, curling around it and trying to get it out of its wielder's grip.  
He held on tenaciously, gritting his teeth and closing his eyes tightly as the other two canes continued to fall on him. The apprentice holding the cane that he was trying to maintain a grip on began kicking him savagely sneering down at him.  
And then one of the canes hit him across the elbow, followed by a crushing blow to the fingers. He saw stars, had the brief impression that he was falling, and then he was lying on his back, looking dazedly up at them.  
The first apprentice' face twisted in a scowl just before his booted foot hit Will in the side with enough force to lift him up, flip him onto his belly.

Surprisingly, the blows stopped for a moment.  
Will didn't move, though. He knew he should try to get up, try to fight, but he was exhausted from the effort he'd already made, and could do little aside from lie there, panting and biting back a groan of pain.

He couldn't understand what they were saying, but he could hear them talking to each other. He gave a startled yelp as one of them pulled him to his feet, pinning his arms behind his back and turning him so that he was facing the other two. He struggled madly, kicking and clawing, painfully aware that he was fully and completely dwarfed by these three knights, his head not even reaching the chin of the boy holding him.  
Wait. They were supposed to be knights.  
He blinked rapidly, shaking his head, unable to focus the foreign thoughts.  
The boy in front of him offered a crooked grin, gesturing slowly, but wildly, and giving a low, mocking bow. "I'm _Al_da, by the way," he sneered, jabbing the cane hard into Will's chest, making him gasp and cough.

The other apprentice chuckled, nodding with a smug grin as he delivered two vicious blows to the apprentice ranger's stomach, in such quick succession that the lad barely had time to react to the first before the second was falling. He gagged, moaning, and would have doubled over in pain if not for the one holding him up.  
"I'm Jerome," the one who had hit him giggled, lining up the cane for another blow. Will closed his eyes, realising there was nothing he could do, and leaned his head back against his captor's chest, focusing on trying to breathe.  
"What…do you want?" he wheezed, but he was sure none of them heard him.  
The grip on his arms tightened, and he nearly yelped at the renewed tingling ache where he'd been hit in the arm with the cane. He felt movement somewhere behind him, the tickle of hair near his brow and the static of skin near his own. What made him cringe, though, was the warmth of breath near his ear, the whisper that followed.  
"And I'm Bryn. Try not to move too much, right?"  
"Oi!" a blow across the chest, a blow across the shin, "Look at me, sneaker! You can't learn your lesson if you don't look at the teachers, now can you?"  
Will sighed, slowly opening his eyes. For a moment, he saw two of everything and, without meaning to, pressed further back against Bryn. It was finally sinking in that he was really being attacked, that it was going to continue, that there was absolutely nothing he could do to make it stop. He realised that the pain he was already feeling…  
It was nothing compared to what was going to happen.  
Alda was grinning wolfishly at him, something carnal in his eyes that Will wished he didn't need to identify. He realised he'd been naïve up until this point, but now, if he lived to see it again, he'd recognise wanton bloodlust wherever it appeared.  
"Now that we've been…properly…introduced," Alda shifted the cane from one hand to another, and Jerome followed his example, "We can start properly too."  
Will sucked in a breath, forgot for a moment how to let it out again. "Why?" he breathed, "What did-?"  
He was silenced by the look Alda was giving him. "Like we said," the older boy replied, "You made us seem foolish. Baby made us seem foolish, too. So now you have to be punished, in case you think it's okay to do it again."

Maybe Alda said more, maybe Jerome spoke as well, but Will didn't hear anything else. The blows were coming too hard, too fast, and he could think of nothing aside from pain, the building agony that was slowly, unbearably slowly, blossoming to a climax that he wasn't sure he could take.  
He twisted and flailed in Bryn's grip, wondering what he was supposed to do. There was no way to escape, but that didn't stop him from trying. _Desperately_ trying to escape. He tried so hard to bite back the yelps and screams as they beat him, but it hurt so much, and his pitiful attempts to get away from Bryn just made it worse.  
He couldn't give up, though. Wouldn't give up. What would Halt say if he just let this happen without putting up a fight?

Finally, he let himself go totally limp, waiting for Bryn's grip to slacken as he stopped struggling.  
When that happened, he pushed himself backward and down as hard as he could, throwing the older boy off balance-  
And putting himself in the perfect position to take the cane directly in the face. Jerome, having seen what was about to happen, had slowed it down, but hadn't been able to stop the blow completely.  
Will didn't see stars. He saw galaxies and exploding suns. For a heartbeat, he forgot his name and where he was, how he'd gotten there and what was happening. All of the air left his lungs in a single, gut-wrenching howl of agony even as Bryn clamped a hand over his mouth and the others shouted at him to shut up.  
Thought became irrelevant.  
There was only the blistering, excruciating _pain_ and the inescapable truth that there was nothing he could do about it. Tears were streaming, and he no longer cared whether these people saw him cry, heard him scream. He didn't care what they did to him anymore. He only cared that somebody was holding him, making it worse, and that he was hurt, dying, couldn't see, aching all over. He sobbed uncontrollably, curling in on himself despite the person holding him trying to keep him upright.  
He didn't see the new look Alda was giving him.  
Bryn, who had gone very, very white, looked up from his position, where he'd knelt as Will had gone down under the blow. "He's had enough," he murmured, then spoke up, "Alda. No. He's had enough."  
He felt sick, clammy as if with fever. His hands were shaking, his face flush with warmth that he didn't like at all. His stomach twisted as the apprentice ranger gave a keening moan, and he ran a sweaty hand through his hair. "Gods above, Alda, what have we done?"  
The words had no effect, and Alda just laughed, lifting the cane for another blow.  
"_Alda_," Bryn insisted, "Jerome. He's had _enough_. I think we should leave now."

Alda cast him a mocking look, lowering the cane and nudging Will with it. "Why?" he asked, gesturing with his free hand and looking genuinely confused, "Because he's being a baby and crying about it?"

Bryn shook his head, the dull throb of guilt pulsing in his veins. "No," he said, knowing what he should say next. Knowing that he should stop this from going any further, knowing that he should go to Sir Rodney, confess his sins and those of his 'friends'. _Knowing_….but something held him back. "It's just," he looked away, looked down, looked anywhere but at the young ranger, "We haven't…_really_…hurt him, have we?" he didn't bother trying to keep the hope out of his voice, "He's…overreacting, right? Face wounds hurt a lot; it doesn't mean…it may not really be serious..."

Alda didn't disguise the look. He full-on looked at Bryn like he was an idiot, but beamed immediately after. "Of _course_," he replied his tone all silk and reassuring, "Really, Bryn, just think of the embarrassment he's caused us. That can't go unpunished."  
He moved closer to where Bryn was kneeling, stooped to pat his shoulder, lowered his voice. "And we're friends. We started this together, didn't we? Think of everything we've done. _Together_."

There was no mistaking the threat.  
Bryn sighed, nodding several times. "You're right, Alda."  
A firm nod, and Alda straightened, prowling in front of Will with a falsely musing expression. "You know," he said slowly, "If he's going to _act_ like a baby…"

Jerome flashed a brutal grin and looked down at Will, who was still crying, but had managed to calm. The boy was still blinking, his sight painfully slow to return. There was no missing the heartbroken look that came over him as he realised that the blackness he'd been seeing wasn't just a prelude to the mercy of either falling unconscious or waking up from a nightmare.  
Jerome bent to grab Will by the shoulders, hauling him mercilessly to his feet, even as the boy whined and reeled back in yet another futile effort to escape. "We'll have to treat him like one."

Bryn shut his eyes, sighing heavily and looking at the ground. He stood, moving away by several yards. He couldn't, wouldn't, be a part of this anymore. But…wasn't watching and doing nothing just as bad?  
The tormented cries he heard a moment later made him flinch as he realised that it wasn't just as bad.

It was worse.

* * *

Horace had gone from being at least a little grateful that the older trainee was being friendly to absolutely resenting him. Not only had the man forced him to go through an hour of a painful process that the healer called 'massage', but had also practically begged him to engage in sparring practice. After that he'd been dragged along to demonstrate techniques and watch demonstrated techniques with a group that he found out was one of the elitist groups tha had formed within the Battleschool. It was an invitation-only group that met weekly to discuss tactics and, well, everything else, as the hour-or-more of nonstop chatter informed Horace quite thoroughly.

He spent the entire thing squirming with anxiety, but he wasn't about to tell the man why he was in such a hurry to get away; His time at the Battleschool so far hadn't taught him trust. For all he knew, this man and everyone else knew exactly what was happening, and telling would only make it worse. Alternatively, if it turned out that the three hadn't gone after Will, he could get into serious trouble for making false accusations.  
But if they _had_….he dreaded to think.

Almost the second he finished the last drill he practically threw the sword into the nearest barrel, about to go to Halt's cabin before remembering that the three older apprentices were armed. He retrieved the sword, wishing that he had a real one, and was about to set off, when-

"Horace, there you are. I've been looking for you!"

Horace stiffened, tightly closing his eyes for a moment before opening them, turning to see Sir Rodney. He gave a distracted half-nod and a murmured, "Battlemaster, sir," in greeting. But he had to leave now, he had to-

Rodney frowned . "Forgetting something?"

Horace, realizing his mistake, snapped to attention. "Sir!"

Rodney nodded. "That's better. I was wondering if you wouldn't mind helping me with something. Show a couple of the lads in your group how it's done."

Horace knew that, though the phrase 'I was wondering if you wouldn't mind' had been used, it wasn't a request. It was an order. He sighed quietly, inwardly hoping that the other apprentices had decided not to bother with Will. "Yes sir."

* * *

Will couldn't breathe, couldn't think. He wondered how many times he would think he was in as much pain as it was possible to feel, only to have a new anguish thrust upon him. He was horrified at how much a change of position could affect the type of pain caused by a blow. His hands were numb from being behind his back so long.

All he could do was whimper as the beating continued. He didn't understand it. Surely they should be _tired_ by now? But he was starting to realise what this was. Every time he would think they were finally finished, that it was over at last, they'd inflict some new torture.

Taunting him all the while.  
He was beyond pride, by this point. He was terrified of crying, would almost rather die than go through that punishment again. But he was so, so hurt. He was sure they'd broken something, with at least one of them practically on top of him to hold him down while the others hit him wherever they could. He'd given up trying to escape. But he couldn't help begging anymore, keeping up a steady, keening whispered mantra of,  
"_Please_,"

Pride wasn't an object, didn't matter. After the kind of pain and humiliation they'd already put him through, he didn't care. He just wanted it over.  
The worst hurt, though, was when he thought it would end. He was pleading, his voice hoarse from screaming, barely audible. He was trying so hard not to cry, but the tears were welling as he looked past his torturers, at the one who was sitting down, watching but not apparently caring. The older boy had looked back at him, had made eye contact, but there was almost no way he could hear the words as Will begged him to make it stop.  
He'd seen the look that Bryn had gotten , though, had thought just for a moment that he might…  
And Bryn had walked away.  
He hadn't screamed so much since it had started.

Will wailed for all he was worth, ignoring Alda and Jerome's laughter. He screamed for Halt, for anyone who would hear him. He realised, though, as a sudden chill washed over him, that he didn't want Halt to come. While he desperately wanted nothing more than for his mentor to come, for anyone to come save him- because now, he realised, he wasn't above admitting that he desperately needed rescuing, after what they'd done- he also didn't want Halt to know about this. Didn't want anyone to know about this. It was painful enough, humiliating enough, without that. Especially with Halt…he didn't know if he could handle the look of disappointment that would surely come. He'd practically let them do this! What would Halt think? What would he _do_?  
Yes, Will had been getting used to his mentor, but he didn't know him yet. There was still a faint touch of fear, even after so much time, and after enduring so much within just a few hours, it was the fear that settled in Will's mind, and he was absolutely terrified of what would happen if Halt knew what had taken place in this forest clearing.

He whimpered as he was shifted again, dreaded what was to come next. Why wouldn't it just end? Why couldn't they just kill him and be done with it? He was drunk on the pain, delirious to the point of pseudo-numbness. They hadn't been careful not to leave marks that couldn't be covered. They had hurt him beyond what could be hidden. Beyond, he thought, what could be recovered from.

He could see Alda looming in front of him, smiling that daunting smile, and drawing back to hit him again. Without thinking, he yelped, recoiling against Jerome, who was holding him up with a sadistic sort of glee. Alda hit him anyway, was going to hit him again. But he couldn't take any more, and he twisted violently in Jerome's grip, burying his face in the boy's chest with a shriek of, "NO!" as painful sobs wracked his body.

Jerome just chuckled softly, pushing Will away from him and toward Alda, who was laughing at him. It wasn't a normal laugh. It was…wrong, somehow. Alda watched patiently as Will collapsed to his knees, unable to stand without someone holding him. He couldn't look away, Alda holding Will's gaze with his own. The boy sauntered toward him, ready to begin a new attack. The same lazy smirk as before was plastered on his face, and he opened his mouth to speak to his cowering victim. However, before Alda could say anything, Bryn stepped in front of him.  
"Alda," this time, Bryn sounded borderline frantic. It had gone entirely too far, and he didn't know how much further it could go before Alda killed the boy, or worse. This wasn't about revenge anymore, it was worse than that. Bryn felt sick that he'd let it continue for so long, didn't know if he could even stop it now, but he could try. Which was more than he'd done for Horace. Even if it was too late to really help anything by stopping it now…"Alda, he's had _enough_,"  
Will slumped forward, falling against Bryn's leg, clawing weakly to stay upright the best he could, but it was a losing effort.  
Bryn knew he ought to be the one on his knees, begging forgiveness and apologizing, though it would never be enough. He knew that, now, more than anything else. "Look at him," he gestured helplessly, "How can that be kept a secret? People are going to find out. He may even…" he swallowed heavily, hands curling to fists at his sides as his voice lowered. "This could kill him," he whispered.

Alda snorted derisively, brushing past Bryn and grabbing Will by his hair, dragging him several feet away before shoving him down with a pitiless force. "He hasn't had enough until I say he has," he growled, "Who's side are you on?"

Bryn shook his head, giving Will a remorseful look. "The ranger's going to know," he said calmly, "And then there's going to be hell to pay."

Now that was something Alda hadn't thought of. He gave Will a rueful glance, noting that the boy was trying, even now, to crawl away. He kicked him again, sending him sprawling. Kneeling, he turned the boy onto his back before he could stop coughing, hauling him ruthlessly up until their faces were less than an inch apart. "You tell anyone," he hissed, "anyone at all, and this is gonna happen all over again. I don't care where you are. Here, in the market, or curled up safe in your bed. It will _all. happen. again_. You understand me?"

Will wheezed, shuddering and clawing at Alda's wrist. At a firm shake, he nodded rapidly, mouth moving soundlessly as he tried to speak, tried to form the actual words to say he understood. But all he could do was nod repeatedly, silently grateful that it was finally over.

Alda studied him carefully for a few seconds, almost pityingly as he traced a light finger down Will's jaw, thumb rubbing in the blood trickling from the boy's mouth. He leaned closer, his forehead brushing against Will's as he spoke again. "But how do we know you'll take this seriously, hmm?" he looked up, nodded to Jerome, "I think you need a little warning, lad."

Bryn stayed where he was, frozen. He heard everything that happened, knew that Will immediately fell into hysterics upon realising his torment was to continue. But, while Bryn felt like every cry was a knife, stabbing him and twisting in his bones, he was powerless to do anything about it.  
But he'd chosen to be powerless, so who could he really blame for it?

* * *

**And that's where the new, improved version leaves off for the first chapter. Because of this, most of what happens is going to be thrown off by at least one chapter. Which, I'm going to try to make the rest shorter, if any of you mind this length too much. Let me know what you think, in every sense of the phrase!  
**


	2. Chapter 2

The worst insult, Bryn thought, was that it ended so calmly.

One moment, he was sitting there trying to tune everything out. Blocking the hideous sounds that resulted from still more hideous actions being taken barely a few yards away. He had never felt so helpless in his life, so wracked with guilt. But where had the guilt gotten him? He hadn't done anything about it, had he? Oh, he'd spoken up. But his words had been weak, half-hearted. He hadn't made any real effort to stop this from happening.

The guilt had been festering for an infinite amount of time, since long before he'd known it was there. For years, it had been suppressed, buried so deep that he hadn't been able to find it. He didn't know at what point he'd realised what was going wrong, but now that he had, he couldn't pretend he didn't know. Not anymore. No, now he had to suffer for it. His sins and those of his friends dancing before his mind's eye, taunting him as his friends taunted their victim.

It went on, and he let it happen.

And then it was over.

He looked up at the sound of footsteps, saw Alda and Jerome walking away. No, swaggering. They walked with the drunken gait of the arrogant; cruel smiles plastered on their faces. They were still laughing, shoving each others' shoulders in congratulatory gestures. But what was their conquest? Beating a younger, smaller boy within an inch of his life? Torturing him for well over an hour and meting out horrific punishments when he couldn't help but scream? Did they consider themselves so victorious, for managing to make him so afraid of them that he wouldn't dare breathe a word for fear they'd do it again?

But who was Bryn to judge them? He'd been the one obediently holding the lad down for them for most of the torments they'd inflicted. And then he'd watched. Stood back and let the others go on. So how was he any better?

It said something, he thought, that Alda and Jerome kept walking. They called back to him one time, without looking back, and carried on their way. He was on his feet, had risen to follow them, but there was something so...wrong, he felt, about just leaving as if nothing had happened. They hadn't said a word to the boy before walking away, had simply finished their task and left him there.

Bryn wished he could bring himself to do the same.

He stood there, alternating between looking at his friends' retreating backs and the ground. He'd felt such shame only a few times in his life, and those were times he didn't care to grace with named memories. He closed his eyes, breathing deep and trying, trying so hard to find a reason. Something to make this okay. But there was nothing to be found. No way of going back and changing what had been done...his shame only solidified when he realised that he would be content just to go back and remove his own involvement, rather than actually stop this from happening entirely. When had he made the metamorphosis into this coward he was now? He couldn't remember being different. Had he always been this way?

The Battleschool apprentice shook his head, pushing the thoughts violently away as he willed himself to move. Walking with leaden steps toward the apprentice ranger, dreading what he'd find.

He didn't know how Alda and Jerome thought the boy could go any length of time without someone finding out what had happened. What had he done to call down this wrath, again? What had he done that was so terrible as to merit this type of revenge? As best Bryn could remember, the lad had nearly been killed by a boar while trying to save Horace- another source of guilt- and the two had saved each other. The ranger had intervened, when the apprentices couldn't take on such a threat by themselves. But where was the crime? Why had he come here today to help...do this?

"My god," he breathed, kneeling nearby, "I'm so sorry."

The Battleschool apprentice reached gingerly for Will's shoulder, feeling a barbed hand curl around his heart as the boy flinched. "Let me help you," he whispered, tripping over the words, "I can...I can take you to a healer. I'll buy you medicine. You'll be alright, and-"

And then the boy looked at him.

A million images flashed across his vision. Bruised cheek, bleeding. Eyes red, puffy. Blood dripping down the boy's chin- he desperately hoped it was just from the split lip. A hollow look in his eyes, too bright, yet dull. Fear written plainly in each iris. Not just fear, but heartbreaking, nightmarish terror. At first, the boy only whimpered, tears still welling even as he tried to fight them back. Bloody lips trembled as he tried to force them apart, tried to choke out the words that came as a shattered prayer.

"Don't touch me,"

Bryn wondered if his heart stopped beating, or if it simply sank further into whatever dark place it had somehow come to inhabit when he wasn't looking. He saw the look that came over the young ranger as he spoke, saw the instant regret as the lad thought some terrible retribution was coming after those words. He couldn't bring himself to move or look away, just stared back at the boy as he was struck fully by the calamity he'd helped to bring about.

He didn't know if this could be survived. His own apocalyptic emotions suggested otherwise, and certainly the broken figure before him made it seem that way. He wondered if he'd really just helped kill this boy. A scream lodged itself in his chest, or the idea of one, or the ghost of one. He didn't know. He just knew that he couldn't stay here, didn't want to see anymore. Now he realised that he'd waited too long. There was nothing he could do, and he wouldn't have any chances to go back. No changing, no making it right.

It was done.

He stood up slowly, though that did nothing to ease the lad's panic. He wanted to walk away without another word, but something was choking him; words strangling the knight as he watched the result of his friends' handiwork. It was wrong to just leave. Degrading. The boy deserved better than that for enduring what he hadn't deserved in the first place.

Deserved far more than Bryn could give him.

So the Battleschool apprentice bowed his head, mouthing words that he knew were inaudible, but hoping the boy would realise the depths of their truth.

"I'm so sorry."

And he walked away.

* * *

The apology barely reached the apprentice's ears, and when it did, it served no purpose.

Will was curled where he'd been left, drowning under the crashing waves of pain and fear that he didn't think he'd ever escape from. There was a tightness in his chest, hardly letting him breathe, and whenever he could get a breath, it was like fire in his abused throat and lungs. His mouth was filled with the vile, competing tastes of copper and salt, making his stomach turn violently even as the other sensations continued wracking him.

The dull, pulsating ache from the repeated blunt force, the burning, the way his whole back felt raw. He felt like he was coated in blood, buried under a smothering blanket. A sick heat had settled over him, along with a feverish chill that made him shiver, drenched in cold sweat. He could do nothing but lay there, keening moans torn from him at painful intervals as his thoughts raced.

He had to get up.

The thought brought the sting of tears to his eyes once again. He didn't have the strength to push them aside or hold them back, not anymore. He was too hurt and too afraid. And his thoughts were spinning, rapidly going in every direction as they forced one thing to the forefront of his mind.

_He really had to get up._

If Halt came back, found him like this...what would happen then? Will may have gotten somewhat used to his taciturn mentor over the time he'd known the man, but he didn't know him that well yet. And even if Halt wasn't angry- why would he be? Will didn't know, but was certain he would be- there was still too much chance for something to go wrong. He'd _know_. He'd know right away what had happened, and Will already knew what would happen if anyone had the slightest notion that he'd told.

But couldn't Halt keep that from happening? Wasn't Halt able to handle a situation like this?

Half of him wanted to think he could just lay still, close his eyes and pray for sleep. Wanted to think that he'd wake up to find Halt. That there would be questions, that he'd answer them and that nothing would happen. That everything would be okay.

But he didn't believe that, no matter how much he knew it was true. In his mind, the warning still resonated, and he was terrified because of it. He couldn't take a repeat of what had just happened. He would rather die than go through that again, and he firmly believed that it would happen again if he told anyone about it.

Including the one person who could actually help him.

That fear alone, he thought, was the only thing that kept his battered heart beating as he stood up, gasping for breath before he could even get to his knees. The nearby trees were an unrelenting support, showing no quarter to his already bleeding hands, but he held on with a vice-like grip, nails digging into the bark despite the added pain.

He couldn't help but imagine the rough fabric of a cloak there instead, that his forehead was pressed tightly to someone's shoulder and not to a tree that could do nothing else but stand there. With a sigh, he stood quietly, eyes closed as he swayed on the brink of unconsciousness Everything was starting to slow down, concealed under a muggy fog that somehow brought a clarity with it.

The cabin. It wasn't far away and it was the most obvious goal he needed to reach, but the ever-quickening surges of pain were an ill-taken reminder that it wouldn't be quite so simple. Already, he knew that there was no way to keep Halt from knowing that something was wrong. It was just a matter of keeping him from knowing what exactly was wrong.

But what was he going to say? Even the blow he'd taken to the face would be enough to instantly alert the older ranger. How could he pass that off as an accident? And he doubted that he'd be able to walk within a few hours, let alone walk without limping.

He forced his eyes closed even tighter, shaking his head to clear it, mainly by wishful thinking. The only thing he could do at the moment was...certainly not think up a story to give Halt. That could come later. For now he needed to get to the cabin. If he had any luck at all, it would be a few hours yet before Halt returned from his business at Castle Redmont. That should at least give him time to get cleaned up and regain some semblance of composure.

The pitiful whine that forced itself from him at that thought trailed off into an almost drunken giggle, high and completely lacking in humour. Composure. Of course. How could he be expected to be composed after something like what he'd just been through?

His fingers cramped where they pressed against the tree, the ache spasming up his arm until, finally, he let go. The world spun dangerously for several seconds, but the idea of falling was almost as painful as trying to support his own weight. With a resigned whimper, he lurched stiffly to the other side of the clearing. He'd rather just get to the cabin, fall on his bed and crawl under the blankets until Halt came back, but it wouldn't look right if he left the arrows in their targets, left his bow...wherever it was.

It took almost twenty minutes to collect the arrows, his trembling hands lacking the strength to remove them from the targets. The quiver felt like molten lead on his back, the strap digging into the wounds and making his head spin. How was it that he could feel so much pain and so much numbness at the same time? He held the bow by its string, having picked it up from where it had been thrown several yards away by his attackers. He couldn't feel it, not even once he forced his hands to curl around the wood.

All he could feel was the hot pulse in his fingertips and the ache he wasn't sure he'd ever escape from. It took a particularly brave effort to lift the bow enough to sling it across his back, not trusting his hands to maintain their grip for very long.

Now he just had to get home.

Had to draw water for a bath, if he was actually going to have one.

Had to figure out what he was going to tell Halt.

Had to figure out how he was possibly going to get up in the morning.

It was strange, how long it took with nobody to lean on. Even finding the strength to take the first step toward the cabin left him drained as Will began his weary journey. He was beginning to realise a disturbing truth, the more he thought about what was ahead of him. They were going to have to kill him. Because they'd left him unable to breathe without severe pain, let alone hide what they had done.

He wondered if they knew that he wasn't brave enough not to try, if they knew that he really was that afraid of what would happen if he didn't do as they'd instructed. Even though he _knew_ it would never last...

He couldn't let Halt know.

It seemed to take an age to reach the cabin, Tug's greeting completely missing him as he neared. The little pony, even at a distance, seemed to realise that something was wrong, his large intelligent eyes locking onto Will as the boy stumbled past with the air of a desert wanderer.

Tug, at least, could know. It wasn't as if he was going to tell anyone. Will grimaced, finally bringing himself to look at the shaggy pony, unintentionally feeling his own resolve wither somewhat at the seemingly concerned snorting, the tossing of the pony's mane as Tug looked him over. It was ridiculous to think of the action as judgmental in any way, for a variety of reasons, but in his present state...

Will ducked his head, already feeling heat rise to his face. If he couldn't handle being looked at by a horse...what was he going to do when Halt arrived? Someone who could actually ask questions and expect answers?

The few steps leading up to the porch were suddenly a daunting prospect. Why not just go to the stables, stay with Tug until Halt got back? He could say he was tired from cleaning the stalls. In fact...he wondered at what would happen if he were to tell Halt he'd been riding. If it had been earlier in the year, before the Harvest Festival, he never would've had the nerve to actually go riding without permission, let alone lie and say that he had. But now...he expected that Halt wouldn't actually mind.

He made himself look up again, at Tug. The pony was pawing the ground with one hoof, clearly agitated. Giving him that look as he considered his options. It was either cross the short distance to the stables- which seemed like an eternity to him at present- or climb the relative mountain that was the steps.

Only one of those would get him anything he actually wanted at the moment.

With a faint wheeze, he turned, staggering as he walked. Tug's whinnying was becoming more insistent as he paced uneasily within the fence that surrounded the stables.

He fell limply against the railing at first, panting for breath until he reached the entrance. Going inside...that was the easy part. After that it was a matter of getting to the second door, where Tug was waiting for him just on the other side. He felt like he should be saying something, but words failed him as he entered the little paddock.

Immediately, Tug was there, warm breath against Will's face as the pony nuzzled him all over. Will didn't even notice that he was crying again until sometime after he'd buried his face in Tug's mane, and then he was babbling nonsense that even he didn't fully understand. Tug knelt slowly, gently easing the young ranger down with him when Will couldn't stand any longer.

It didn't take the pain away, but it was like a soft blanket to Will anyway. Maybe not all of the comfort that he needed at the moment, but it was something, and for at least a little while he wouldn't have to hide how hurt he really was. Later, when Halt got back, he'd have to figure out how to be strong. But right now he could just lean on Tug, and that would be enough.

He would never know if he passed out or just fell asleep, but the last thing he felt for quite some time was Tug's muzzle against his face, against his shoulder, perfectly content to lay there with him for as long as he needed it. 

* * *

**Mkay, so I've been sick for a bit, and then decided to be selfish and wait for ten reviews anyway. But that was stupid of me and I won't do it again. Promise. Cross me heart, hope...in all honesty not to die, really...hmm...**

Also, I know the ending is a little shallow. But I was going to be cruel and end it with something like "And then the nightmares started" but I decided, y'know what, that'd be a bit much, considering everything else Will has to go through in this story. I say he's so exhausted right now, in such turmoil, that he's allowed to have this one dreamless sleep for a little bit.

Now, next chapter, we get to have some HALT. I know. Right I've missed him too. And don't worry, he's going to be MUCH more in-character this time.

As always, lemme know what you hope to see at some point, what you think so far, how you think things are going to happen...just recall that this one has a different ending than the original would have, so keep the guesses coming! Also, be a dear and leave Will some Comfort Items in your review. He'll need them in the next chapter.

Thankyouthankyouthankyou, love- CrayBard


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